


Remember

by saucytuggles



Category: Midnight Poppy Land (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25920001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucytuggles/pseuds/saucytuggles
Summary: Just a little reverie. Don't know how else to describe.
Relationships: Tora/Poppy Wilkes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juliabsquared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabsquared/gifts).



> After many attempts by my kids to explain fluff to me: “No mom, you should definitely write that story, but that’s not fluff,” “No, mom, fluff is WHOLESOME,” “No, mom, nobody cries in fluff, unless they’re happy tears,” etc., here is my lame attempt at fluff for juliabsquared's birthday! Happy Birthday, Julia!

**REMEMBER**

_a_ ** _Midnight Poppy Land_ **_fanfic by Saucy Tuggles_

_Based on some pretty awesome characters totally owned by_ **_Lilydusk_ ** _._

 _Midnight Poppy Land can, and should, be viewed on webtoons.com or the WEBTOON app._

_Enjoy._

I remember the dappled sunlight on my hands from the leaves, the bark scraping under my legs, the feeling – not alone. The feeling of not alone.

I remember the smell of the pear, it’s greenish yellow skin, the light flecks, how it yielded, ripe, when I pressed it with my fingers, the delicious smell, still hot from the tree in the backyard and the sunshine.

I remember the standing in the waves, the seashore, the packed lunch, the love, the arms if I fell, carrying me into the ocean, I remember the starfish clear in the shallows, I remember the hermit crabs' quick scuttle, the debris on the shore after a big storm, the bubbles in the sand and my small hands digging for the unseen, fearless.

I remember my hands in the dough. Her hands in the dough. Both were soft, the dough, her skin. Grandma, Grandma. I love you.

I remember kitchens and warmth and schools and shoes. I remember bright orange flowers and an overgrown garden. I remember I was the worst at calligraphy. I remember making things with clay. I remember playing around the grown ups’ skirts, and a brown and black cat, and a painted blue porcelain pig.

I don’t remember the day she left, only the crater of silence that enveloped us all in a moment.

I don’t remember the walk to school, lost in thoughts, or in the small everyday sights – a paper blowing across the sidewalk, boys racing each other on bikes, leaves turning red in the fall, and fluttering down and down around me, worms struggling on the asphalt after a rain.

I remember kisses, trying to feel comfortable, I remember feeling guilty that I didn’t like his tongue on me. I remember him pushing, angry, then giving in and sulking. I remember feeling unsatisfactory, unworthy. I remember his hands on my back, my arms, my waist. Hands I didn’t welcome. Why don’t you want me, he said.

I remember when the dark wind came and blew my life away. I held Grandma’s hand. The emptiness I remember, that settled in me like a new moon, a windless day, a field where nothing grew. I remember the day we cremated my Dad.

I remember the walls of glass and the knowing, the interview, the serious questions, that moved into friendly laughter, feeling like this was the one, this was familiar, this was where I would find my place.

I remember standing, the heat of the sun on the back of my shirt, the voices, the giggles, the weight of the bag on my shoulder, I remember my heart sounded suddenly so loud. I opened the door and it was shock but it wasn’t. I remember feeling my gut, like a hole opening, like shame, and the secret squirm of relief.

I remember the scooter the jolt, turning in the air, no time to be afraid before the impact, the gravel, the scraping. Panic and pain. Alone.

I don’t remember falling, just the crack, impossibly loud, ringing through my bones, the yowl of the cat, mangy thing with golden eyes, then a feeling of wind, I knew I would hit – again, like before, hit the gravel, my clothes would tear again, skin rip again, twice in one day, am I a fool or just unlucky – but no, there was no ground, no rocks, just a sudden stop into softness, warmth, a smell of musk and something else, dark and spice and smoke and sweet.

I remember the piano sounds, the clink of glasses, silverware. The large hands, the cigarettes. The flick and crinkle of the paper. The still air, the smell of wood, and paint. The warm eyes, sometimes laughing, sometimes uncertain.

I don’t remember why I didn’t pull away. I’m supposed to pull away, I’m supposed to not talk to strangers, not get in cars with strangers, not hold hands with strangers, not touch their hair, not be drawn to strangers like a solitary comet pulled by gravity into their solid mass, not take their cards. I’m supposed to stay safe, and not fall into this inexorable well, the deep pit of you, a stranger.

****************

I remember a searing place. I remember no escape. I remember the fear, and the rage. I remember too much.

I don’t remember the seashore. I don’t remember ski trips. I remember the mountain, and the stone. I remember my boys, I remember skateboards. I remember fighting, I remember blood.

I remember hating the night, fighting the slide into sleep. I remember the dreams that are the enemies of me. I remember the hungry ghosts.

I remember nowhere to turn. The hand of comfort is the hand of pain. I remember the solitary, the one, me. I remember the feeling at the center, the one single place they can’t reach into or touch. I remember what is mine.

I don’t remember standingunder the stars in the desert, the chill air on my skin.

I remember the clock ticking down, like my heartbeats, the noises of the other men, their hungry roar, their excitement. The guarded looks, the dark hopes, the hovering of vultures.

I remember the boys. Most dead now, or locked down, or fled. A very few remain. I remain. I remember the friendship, the paradox of trust and doubt. Knowing we wouldn’t be there for each other, while swearing that we were. Brothers but enemies. When the line is laid down, it’s the heartbeat within that must win.

I remember the balance of the metal in my hand. I remember the heft. Knowing how many rounds remain from the weight in my palm. The shine, the oil, the smell, the heat of the slide after multiple shots.

I don’t remember the engine starting as I turned the key, a deep roar, the power. I remember driving fast, fleeing something I couldn’t outrun. That night that I ran. I said “sleep with me.” I was so fucking honest. I remember her hand on my arm, like her hand in my hair, like her hand in my hand. I remember I drove my car into the ground, the buildings a blur, but there was no escape.

I don’t remember what came before. I have no eye to what’s coming. Today is the only day. What all these ghosts, these heads, these people, common people talk about, plans, futures, budgets, dreams, this their fiction. Their smoke and fantasy. Today is the only day.

I don’t remember walking the trails. I don’t remember wind on my face. I don’t remember a welcoming time.

I remember the sky was painted like blood and candy and water when she kissed me. The pink, the colors, bare branches of the starving rooftop trees, her hips under my hands, a new possibility rolling over me, like music, two voices soaring, whispering, grumbling, growling, the scent of jasmine blossoms from below, the cool concrete strong behind my back, the soft evening air on my face, hair, hands, moving. The scent of her, the finest perfume. I almost came from the multiplying beauties. Almost cried, almost gave up my life.

****************

How red the flowers. I don’t remember. The taste on the tongue. I don’t remember. City people, the alien forms. I don’t remember.

I don’t remember life being so cheap. I don’t remember being so out of control.

I don’t remember the lash across my heart. The terrible, unspeakable confinement.

I don’t remember those eyes, hopeful. Petrified. Paralyzed. Wary. I don’t remember the wild courage. The boy. A girl. I don’t remember the bamboo grove and the fireflies, ancestors’ spirits moving around my hands. Hooves drumming, hooves like the ocean sound. The armies surging.

I don’t remember the bitter smell of diesel and of empty coercion. I don’t remember it. Don’t make me remember my own cowardice. I don’t want to step back into the pit. Into the truth. I don’t remember. Let’s leave it that way.

I don’t remember like a wall, I don’t remember like a tower, a cliff of stones and sayings, of beliefs. Idon’t want to remember my own fucking weakness. My true infection. I don’t want to remember the gash. I don’t.

Why remember the seconds streaming endlessly through my fingers like sand, like spit, like the wet pouring rain over the stones, through the beliefs, into my sorrow.

I don’t

remember.

Would you?

Remember who you are. Are you my beloved? Are you my disappointment?

Remember who we are. Dolls and soldiers, clouds and seeds and ashes.

Remember who I am. Now. This moment, this endless choice.

I don’t want to remember. Do I?

This will start all over. We never ever learn. This yearning, this abandonment. I abandon myself.

My eyes close. Together we remember. One thing. Just this.

You are my hope.


End file.
